


Queen of Cars

by AnonymousDandelion



Series: We're On Our Own Side Prompt Fills [2]
Category: Good Omens (Radio), Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Banter, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves the Bentley (Good Omens), Crowley's Bentley (Good Omens), Fluff, Humor, Mentioned Aziraphale (Good Omens), No Plot, Other, POV Bentley (Good Omens), Prompt Fill, Queen (Band) Lyrics, Sentient Bentley (Good Omens), The Bentley Loves Crowley (Good Omens), The Bentley Ships It (Good Omens), The bentley loves Queen, Tumblr Prompt, just the bentley being a pain in the ears because she can, we'reonourownside, wooos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:33:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26643046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousDandelion/pseuds/AnonymousDandelion
Summary: The Bentley fondly irritates Crowley. Crowley is fondly irritated by the Bentley. Queen songs are quoted. The Bentley is a serial album corrupter. Poor Crowley doesn't stand a chance.
Relationships: The Bentley & Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: We're On Our Own Side Prompt Fills [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1944763
Comments: 10
Kudos: 39
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens





	Queen of Cars

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the prompt "Queen songs", from [We're On Our Own Side](https://we-are-on-our-own-side.tumblr.com/post/629141970930089984/this-weeks-theme-is-queen-songs-so-dont-let-us).

“We’re heading to the bookshop, girl. Picking up our angel.”

The Bentley rumbles a pleased greeting as her driver pulls open the door and swings himself bonelessly into his seat. To the bookshop, and to the angel. Good, and good. _Very_ good.

The Bentley revs her engine, expressing her approval of the day’s plan, then revs it a few more times, just for dramatic effect.

The door swing shut behind her driver without needing to be touched; possibly his work, possibly hers, they work well enough together that it hardly matters. After a moment, he pops open her glove compartment, reaches inside, and retrieves — not a glove, there has never once been a glove inside the Bentley’s glove compartment, she has no idea at all why they call it that — a CD case.

He holds the case at arm’s length, examining it carefully and frowning as if he’s afraid of finding out what’s inside.

And rightly so.

The Bentley waits, engine purring with her eager anticipation.

“How long has this been out here?” he asks aloud at last, voice fair oozing suspicion. With good reason, of course.

The Bentley offers no reply. This is partly because she is a car. It is, however, mainly because seeing her driver’s reactions to the thing that happens to music he leaves in her keeping for a fortnight or longer is a delightful source of entertainment that never gets old. And, to keep her game interesting and to keep her driver guessing, she prefers to avoid giving him any advance warning or information aside from that which he figures out himself.

Slowly, exuding fully justified apprehension, the Bentley’s driver slides the disc into the correct slot in her stereo, which once played cassette tapes only but at some point in relatively recent years (even the Bentley herself can’t remember exactly when) was found to include both a built-in CD player and an auxiliary adapter.

Accepting the disc, she spins it around a few times, making the most of the moment, putting off the reveal for the sake of suspense and just for the fun of it.

Then the bass line and percussion kick in, and she skips straight to the titular chorus, a tribute to her latest triumph over classical music: ANOTHER ONE BITES THE DUST.

Her driver smacks her on the dashboard. “Did you _have_ to?” he demands.

She changes tracks in order to passionately declare: IT’S A BEAUTIFUL DAY, THE SUN IS SHINING, I FEEL GOOD, AND NO ONE’S GONNA STOP ME NOW.

“I could stop you if I tried, you know. I just don’t bother.”

She switches tracks again, and retorts, YOU DON’T FOOL ME.

“I _like_ Mendelssohn,” he tells her. “One of these days…”

Another track change. DON’T LOSE YOUR HEAD, she advises, emphatically.

“You’re just lucky I like you better,” he growls. He pauses, then adds menacingly, “For _now_ , that is.”

She jumps to a different song’s chorus. SHEEEEEEER HEART ATTACK.

Her driver subsides a little under the force of the sarcasm.

Smugly, the Bentley turns up the volume a bit.

Well she knows that she is lucky. She’s known that for at least as long as she’s known anything. She’s known she is lucky ever since her demonic driver first took her home. She’s known she is lucky since learning that other cars were forced to adhere to the laws of traffic and physics while driving. She’s known she is lucky since the day she willingly sacrificed her life for her driver, undergoing spontaneous vehicular combustion — and then, to her immense astonishment, discovered abruptly that she was in fact alive, and quite uncombusted, after all.

Most importantly, she’s known she is lucky ever since the first time she heard Bohemian Rhapsody, and especially ever since she learned how to overwrite the contents of cassette tapes, compact discs, and their ilk (figuring out how to handle digital albums is the next project on her to-do list, but thus far her driver has been frustratingly — and wisely — reluctant to even take the risk of connecting his phone’s playlist to her speaker, let alone leaving it with her for a full fortnight).

In any case, for many reasons, the Bentley is the luckiest car in the world. And therefore, she is never going to miss out on any opportunity to take every advantage of her incredible luck.

The Bentley hums, and switches tracks yet again, launching into her all-time favorite song. She’s never gotten her driver to confess, but she is quite convinced that he secretly wrote it, or at the very least that he must have been the primary source of inspiration for the song’s writer.

It’s about her, naturally. The lyrics she’s currently blasting make that fact really blatantly obvious. THE MACHINE OF A DREAM, SUCH A CLEAN MACHINE…

She hits the chorus (I’M IN LOVE WITH MY CAR), and her driver grumbles, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. What about Aziraphale, hey? You trying to compete with him?”

They both know that's complete and utter nonsense. And the Bentley is not going to stand for it. As if her driver’s affection for her has ever been of the sort to pose any kind of threat to his relationship with his angel. The angel (of whom the Bentley has grown to be quite fond, despite some initial mutual wariness) may undeniably still be a total wet blanket when it comes to driving, but there’s no real rivalry in that corner, as all three of them are well aware.

It’s a shame to have to switch out of her favorite song, but she can (and will) always play it again later. Right now, the Bentley’s first priority is to provide a suitable rejoinder to her driver’s ridiculous comment. She runs silently through the various song lyrics at her disposal, trying to land on the best option. Preferably something relevant and emotional enough that she knows it will make her driver squirm; that is, after all, generally one of her two ultimate goals in life (the other being to terrify squirrels, pedestrians, and/or any other vehicles that think they stand even the slimmest of chances at keeping pace with her).

The Bentley’s driver has more than enough heart to go around, she knows, even if he’s usually loath to admit to it.

Decision made, she flips to yet another track and turns the volume up once again, even louder this time — loud enough that she knows random passersby are going to stare, cringe, make obscene gestures, and complain about disturbance of the peace.

Both the Bentley and her driver love it when people complain about them disturbing the peace.

But for the moment, she focuses on teasing her squirming, eye-rolling, inarticulately mumbling, charmingly disgruntled driver: FUNNY HOW LOVE IS EVERYWHERE.

“Why do I always end up with the bastards?” he wants to know, plaintively.

WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS.

“Mm.” He raps her on the steering wheel, pointedly changing the subject. “You ready to go, or what?”

The Bentley is _always_ ready to go. It's something of her specialty. Today, she takes off at a mere seventy miles per hour — practically a crawl, albeit one that still easily leaves in the dust every other vehicle that has the nerve to attempt to share her road.

Her driver is not going to slither out of this so easily, though. As they skid around the first corner on the familiar route to Soho, the music continues to play at top volume, returning to the Bentley’s previous choice of track. JUST LOOK AND SEE, FUNNY HOW LOVE IS ANYWHERE YOU’RE BOUND TO BE, FUNNY HOW LOVE IS EVERY SONG AND EVERY KEY...

… well, she muses, that may be true, generally speaking, but love is _especially_ songs and keys that feature Freddie Mercury.

**Author's Note:**

> Cast of Queen songs, in order of appearance:
> 
>   * Another One Bites the Dust
>   * It's A Beautiful Day
>   * You Don't Fool Me
>   * Don't Lose Your Head
>   * Sheer Heart Attack
>   * I'm In Love With My Car
>   * Funny How Love Is
>   * We Are The Champions
> 

> 
> Hope you enjoyed this silliness! As always, thanks to anyone who reads/leaves kudos/comments. And if you have any thoughts or reactions at all to share, it's always fantastic to hear from the void. :)


End file.
